The Last Hope
by Loony Ferret
Summary: With the outcome of the final battle looking bleak, Hermione is sent back in time to Tom Riddle's day in order to change something... but it's up to her to find out what.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer for this and all following chapters: We don't own anything in the Harry Potter universe; that is all JKR's, and we also want to thank her for sharing it with us because we absolutely adore everything about it! Ours is only the plot ideas and all that rot._

**Prologue**

Even with my advance warning, things were going very badly for us. We knew we'd be outnumbered in terms of human fighters, and we knew they'd have the advantage of being less scrupulous in their choice of curses. But we were counting on Hagrid to bring more giants to our side; he'd arrived in time, but only brought three, one of which was his runt of a brother. We didn't exactly expect the werewolves to go to the Dark Lord's side in such huge numbers; Lupin had been working on their neutrality for months and they'd seemed inclined to avoid the whole bloody mess altogether. The Ministry's idiotically ill-timed Werewolf Restrictions must have angered them more than we optimistically hoped. I've heard Potter mutter that sometimes he thinks the Ministry is against us; I could tell him that, knowing who has the strongest power over them, they are.

Longbottom, the idiotic fool, is dueling with Bellatrix Lestrange. He'll never be a match for her; he's too honest, and she's too crazy and unpredictable. Honor Longbottom may have, but that doesn't matter to Bellatrix. I've often thought that nothing matters to Bellatrix save for herself. Even Rodolphus has proven expendable.

I'd jump in with Longbottom, just for the chance to send a few hexes Bella's way, but I have another mission to take care of. I can't risk it all on the chance that Longbottom may do something stupid and clumsy and get me killed. I keep moving towards the center of the battle, watching out for danger from under my Obscuring Hood.

I take down Avery as he sneaks up behind Lupin, battling Snape. Avery drops like a stone, dead. I'm not held back by my morals like the Gryffindors I'm allied with.

Moody comes from my right and starts regulating the crowd of Death Eaters around Lupin and Snape. Lupin attacks and strikes ferociously, seeking revenge on behalf of the Order, of his deceased gang, of Potter, of Dumbledore, of himself. I wonder if they are really only angry with Snape, for betraying their oh-so-wonderful trust, or with themselves, for being so bloody stupid.

Snape is bleeding from a wound on the side of his face. He_ really_ looks ugly now.

The controversial fight is so attention-absorbing for both sides, so that they don't even notice me at all here. Time was they'd all be seeking _me_ out to kill me. This is my first open operation for the Order, so while the Death Eaters know of my betrayal, most of the Order still doesn't know of my true alliances. So my total anonymity is welcome, making my movements ever the easier.

Ginny Weasley and Hannah Abbot are dragging Kingsley Shacklebolt to safer ground. He's gravely injured—not that I'm an expert, but I think it's going to be too late for Shacklebolt. Weasley and Abbot are being stupid, succeeding only in further endangering themselves, with their minds and hands occupied with the task of rescuing a dying corpse.

I take down a Death Eater who saw their vulnerability and move past them. I see _him_—it's not my duty or my mission, only my personal obsession after all, to see him dead. His hair is shining long from under his glistening mask, splayed against his dark robes—I follow him around to the greenhouses, lowering my hood.

He sees me, and smirking maliciously, he darts behind Greenhouse Number Seven. He Banishes a body into my face—Hestia Jones—and I stumble sideways into a tree, shooting a wayward Killing Curse that shatter half of the glass windows of Greenhouse Number Six. I see his dark cloak swish behind Number Seven, and follow him into a dark alleyway between the greenhouses.

I don't see him, I don't see him anywhere. Unsettled and suspicious, I duck back out. Two of the greenhouses explode. I dive for the shrubs, but I can feel little shards of glass on my back and my arms.

I see him, across the ruins, looking victorious. I reach for my wand on the dirt just inches from me as he looks on, grinning maliciously. I see the fire-red hair of the Weasel King, wand aimed and ready, from over the bastard's shoulder, but he doesn't notice. I raise my wand for pretense, and Lucius sneers, raising his own almost lazily to bring up a shield.

I notice that his sneer is glued to his face as he falls, dead.

I sneer at Weasley.

After taking a moment to gather enough spit in my mouth to spit on Lucius' body, I look around. I'm right near the crux of battle, where Potter and the Dark Lord are dueling, Potter feverishly, the Dark Lord looking only slightly worried. Around them their various minions are fighting, yet leaving the two largely undisturbed as they decide between themselves the fate of the wizarding world.

Potter is defending himself with shield after shield, hardly getting any attacks in between the Dark Lord's fast and powerful hexes. While Potter's keeping the Dark Lord too occupied for him to take the time and power to perform any Unforgivables, Potter isn't going to win like this.

I've given up too much for Potter to fail now—so I won't let that happen.

Weasley and I, now side by side, both see a Death Eater—Nott Sr.—take aim at Potter's back, proposing to break the unofficial boundaries around Potter and the Dark Lord. I raise my wand; Weasley, loyal sidekick that he is, jumps between Nott's curse and Potter. I try to distinguish the spell that emits that rusted purple jet of color as I take down Nott. Potter, oblivious, is uninterrupted in his duel. Granger appears by Weasley's side, kneeling over him.

There's no time. Potter's failing. I search out Loony. What we need is more _time…_

Potter looked highly stressed as he surveyed us. "I don't know if Voldemort is completely vulnerable yet—but I have a very strong feeling that Voldemort won't let us delay the final battle any longer. I hate to resort to this…." He sighed, then turned to m, looking at me with troubled, determined eyes. He must still hate me for my part in Dumbledore's death, yet he hides it so well, for the good of the common goal. I smirk at him... "I'll give you the Hood again. Luna is here because she's the only one who knows of your status besides Ron, who is too emotionally involved, and Neville, who has his own job to do." He turned back to face both of us. "So watch for the signal, you two, do you remember which—"

_I nod, biting back my impatience in face of the dire circumstances. "—yes, we know—"_

"_Good. Then for the love of God, 'R.A.B' succeeded…."_

_Lovegood turned to me with her bloody vague, addled smile. I knew she was thinking of an earlier conversation—well, she talked, I ignored her—and I glared at her. When I had told her I didn't believe in love, she'd tried to convince me by telling me that it was a common affliction of the mind caused by breathing in an especially adaptive species of fungus. _

_She raised her eyebrows even further than they were naturally. "Maybe you'll accept it now, now that fungus is our last hope?"_

"_What are you talking about, Loony?" I scoffed, sneering at her._

Potter's blue spark shot out towards me, and it popped in a small explosion in front of my face. He'd caused Dark Lord to stumble and taken the opportunity to alert us instead of attack… I suppose the Dark Lord really was immortal. My gaze darts to Lovegood, past Weasley and Granger, a little to the right, and our gazes met for a moment. I shift so that Loony and I are on direct opposite sides of the two, and we raise our wands, and I can here a voice counting down in my head, and our three spells met at the target.

Granger flickers like a light, and disappears.

I lower my wand. "Good luck, Granger," I mutter, and turn to see what she had done.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Hermione felt a jolt like electricity rush through her body, and her vision blurred and grayed. She swayed on her knees and pitched forward, throwing her arms out in front of her so she wouldn't crush Ron. She forced away her disorientation and grappled for her friend. Her hands met grass and dirt.

"Ron," she said, hoarsely.

She shook her head to clear it, and looked down to where Ron was lying. There was a patch of grass. He wasn't there. Where was he? She had to get to him, _now_. He might need help. She didn't even know if he was alive.

She searched the ground with her hands in a panic, saying his name again, before sitting back on her heels. She attempted to think rationally, but her mind was in a haze.

"Ron," she said.

It was a moment before she missed the shouting and yells, the sounds of battle. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it sooner; now it seemed like the silence was ringing in her ears.

_No _one was there. The entire battle was _missing_. Not even Harry or Voldemort remained.

It was as if she'd just awakened from a dream. Had she been sleepwalking? Hogwarts grounds were empty of people. The grass was not trampled, and there were no fallen fighters. The greenhouses were all intact.

But—there weren't as many greenhouses as there should have been. It wasn't as if they'd been demolished, it was as if they'd never been there at all. Hermione, academic enthusiast as she was, was absolutely certain of the number of greenhouses—yet now there were only four.

Hermione reached down to the ground to where Ron should have been, brushing the grass lightly, and blinked. She pushed herself to her feet.

Had it been just a dream? It had been so vivid—so vivid it had seemed like a nightmare at the time. She had _seen_ Charlie Weasley die. Tonks had bled all over her, and her own left arm was rendered useless after an effective Cutting Hex.

She looked down, half expecting to see pajamas. But they were the robes she'd worn to battle—rumpled, torn, and bloody. Her muscles were sore, and her arm bleeding. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she could feel prickles of pain growing stronger at the wound. She'd clearly been in a real battle.

But where _was_ the battle?

Oh Merlin.

She looked over the landscape hurriedly, taking it in. It wasn't even the right time of year. It was supposed to be late spring, and here she was at a Hogwarts in the early stages of autumn. She'd just been in the afternoon—now it seemed to be late morning.

Oh Merlin. Oh _God._

She whirled around the where the Whomping Willow had been thrashing wildly at any fighters who ventured near, its antics energized by the Invigorating Manure with which Hagrid had fertilized it prior to battle, protecting the passageway.

No Whomping Willow.

Hagrid's hut—too small, it was normal-sized, and it was missing a pen of dangerously 'interesting' creatures.

Hermione turned back to the empty battle ground, stray thoughts running through her shell-shocked brain.

It had happened. R.A.B. must have failed, or lied. And Harry had sent her back.

It all fit. The missing greenhouses hadn't been built yet; Hagrid wasn't gamekeeper now, the gamekeeper must be a normal sized man; Remus hadn't come to school yet, so the Whomping Willow hadn't been needed and planted.

They'd done it.

Or—oh _Merlin_—they'd _tried_ to. Time spells were notoriously imprecise. What if they had missed by just a year? Or by many, many more?

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. So she had to find out _when_ exactly she was, and take her next step from there. There was no point in agonizing over it any more than necessary.

She looked back to the battle ground, to where Ron had lain. This meant that she had a chance to save him. Him and and Dumbledore and Sirius and Charlie and Tonks and Kingsley and countless others. She could save Harry from his fate.

For the first time she looked to the castle itself. It looked relatively the same as in her day, but school didn't seem to be in session. She'd never seen it so empty. In all the windows she could see only one shadowy figure, looking out from the library . Usually the shapes of students could be seen everywhere, milling around or rushing to classes. Maybe it was late summer, not early autumn.

Hermione mused for a moment longer before mending and cleaning her robes. She approached the front doors, attempting an air of confidence, as if she was supposed to be there (and _then_).

A tall wiry woman with graying blonde hair opened the door, betraying only mild surprise as she surveyed the unfamiliar, unexpected visitor.

"Welcome to Hogwarts… are you here to see Headmaster Dippet?"

"Actually, I'd like to see Albus Dumbledore," Hermione said, calmly, praying that Dumbledore was at Hogwarts whenever she was. She was pretty sure Dippet was the right headmaster for when she wanted to be…. "If you could please take me to him as quickly and discreetly as possible…" she looked at the woman expectantly.

The woman looked annoyed. "Is he expecting you? Professor Dumbledore hasn't mentioned a guest coming today. I'm sure—"

"Please—I really don't have time for pleasantries. I—" she felt a wave of dizziness and closed her eyes. "I don't think I can stand very long. I need his help."

She opened her eyes again to see a startled look cross the woman's face. She looked faintly concerned and stepped back to allow Hermione entrance. "I'll take you to his office."

Hermione stepped inside, masking her tiredness again, and nodded at the woman tersely.

She soon found herself standing outside of the Transfiguration office. Her escort had knocked and was opening the door, talking to someone inside—presumably Professor Dumbledore—"there's a young woman here to see you, Albus, she just showed up on the Hogwarts doorstep." She sounded somewhat uneasy. After all, Hogwarts was heavily protected, and it would be upsetting to have someone so easily gain unexpected entrance.

Professor Dumbledore came to the door, looking puzzled, and Hermione's heart caught in her throat. "Thank you, Augusta. I'll see what I can do for our guest."

The wiry Augusta stood dismissed as the door closed behind Hermione.

Dumbledore situated her in a seat by his desk and offered her a tin. "Sherbert lemon?" Hermione struggled not to cry or laugh as she refused. She took a calming breath as Dumbledore helped himself to a candy and settled into his own chair.

"Why don't you tell me who you are, and what I can do for you?" he prompted kindly, eyes twinkling.

Hermione leaned forward. "Professor, I must know what year it is," she said urgently.

Dumbledore beamed at her for a moment, and then said, "Excellent."

_AN: How many greenhouses are there? Are there actually four in current day? I sort of think there were… If so, feel free to correct me. I'd like to know what pages you got that from, too. Sorry, stickler for those kind of things. Also, I have Hermione saying "oh God" because I figured that in moments of stress, Muggle expressions would come back to her._


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Hermione sat back in her chair, hard, gaping at Dumbledore. Whatever reaction she'd anticipated, this was not it. She'd expected some degree of surprise, perhaps distrust, at her bizarre position; even the Dumbledore of her time had not been as all-knowing as this. This auburn-haired professor before her, far from looking surprised, was twinkling at her madly, and looked satisfied, though with what, Hermione was unsure.

Seeing her bewilderment, the professor reached into his bottom desk drawer and rifled through its contents momentarily. Cushioned in Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrappers was a ball as big as his palm. It was glass, with deep midnight blue smoke swirling inside of it. A thin line of silver lined it along its would-be equator, with faints runes etched across it.

Professor Dumbledore set it on the desk between them. "I daresay you know what this is," he said.

Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. She hated not knowing answers.

"No?" Dumbledore didn't looked very bothered. "Then we're both of us in the dark."

Again, Hermione wanted to laugh and cry, but instead she looked closer at the runes in an attempt to decipher them. "Well, it looks faintly like a Remembrall."

"And to me, it looks rather like a Momenta, used to record and store information or messages to yourself. It's ideal for privacy purposes, for only the one to record the message can replay it, or so it is in my time." He paused as Hermione registered this.

"I received this several months ago, already holding a recorded message. I was baffled, since I had not used this Momenta, but I ignited it anyway, and, to my surprise, a message replayed." Dumbledore smiled at her over his steepled fingers. "I suppose this is a future member of the Remebrall and Momenta family that can send secure messages intended for one only. The messenger knew things that know one else knows in this time. The messenger, I gather, will become a very good friend of mine." He grew pensive momentarily. "He also alerted me to your possible visit."

Hermione was already smiling wryly at him, feeling extremely grateful to Harry. "Thank goodness. I didn't know what I'd need to do to gain your trust," she said, frankly. One less problem to deal with; Professor Dumbledore was already on her side. "How much do you know, then?"

"Very little," Dumbledore admitted. "Just enough to know I should assist you to the best of my abilities, and trust you to carry out your mission yourself. I know I am not to be completely filled in. Any ideas I have about what you are up to are from my own current misgivings—I have been watching this castle carefully, my dear time-traveler, and, well, let me say I am glad you have finally come, just in time for this new school year. The seventh year class is… very interesting." His eyes were serious as he considered her.

She blinked at this subtle onslaught of information. Dumbledore had a very good inkling, and she was in the right year. Hermione nodded slowly, scratching her chin and wondering what her next actions should be. Suddenly, the magnitude of the mission almost overwhelmed her. Now that she knew she was in the right time and place, and with Dumbledore already prepared to help her, nothing remained but to begin. She rubbed her face tiredly. Her arm throbbed.

"If I could have your help in creating a strong background, that would be great," Hermione began. "We need some good excuses for my lack of connections to the outside world."

She looked up at Dumbledore, squinting. "I don't want to give anything away, but… you've been having some trouble with a Dark wizard…."

"Which has all just been taken care of," Dumbledore supplied promptly. "That reign of terror ended just this past spring."

"Honestly, I know more about it from the Muggle aspect than the wizarding, but could my parents have been involved in the war effort?"

"I can do better than create parents for you—how about we adopt people who actually existed?" Dumbledore offered.

Hermione frowned. "This is supposed to be _secret,_ professor. I can't afford to bring anyone else into my confidence…."

"These people are deceased, don't worry. There was a couple, the Hales, who were fairly obscure to almost everyone. They were good friends of mine—I knew them better than anyone still living. With the right documentation and my verification, you could claim to be their only child."

"Oh—I see," said Hermione brokenly. "That sounds like a fine idea, yes."

"If you feel you need a legal guardian, I would certainly help you there," Dumbledore went on, hesitantly.

Hermione interrupted. "No—thank you, but I think it would be better if I didn't have any close ties to anyone, especially you, sir." That sounded rude to her ears, but if he truly had guessed her target, then he would understand.

Dumbledore nodded, and took out a parchment and quill. "Good, good. I will settle documentation about your parentage and inheritance—very modest, I'm afraid, but you can, of course, ask me for financial aid should you need it. He made a small list in emerald green ink and handwriting that Hermione recognized. "Your first name?"

"Hermione."

"Hermione Hale, then, very nice." He noted this next to his note about parentage.

Hermione Hale. It sounded so foreign to her ears. She closed her eyes. Her arm…

"On to schooling, then…?" Dumbledore's voice followed the scritch-scratching of his quill.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she tapped her fingers on the desk. "I suppose it would make most sense to have attended boarding school in America. I know some French, but not enough to have attended Beauxbaton, should my speaking abilities be tested at some point. It would also have been logical for my parents to send me to America for school for safety reasons, especially if they were very involved against Grindelwald."

"I could arrange that. Salem is one of the biggest institutes in the world—even the staff wouldn't notice an extra name added in the last year's roster." He added this to his list.

"Sir, I've just finished school in my time, but should I repeat my seventh year for appearance?"

To her surprise, Dumbledore didn't nod, but seemed rather hesitant to agree. "Hogwarts has rarely taken transfer students. It could be suspicious in itself, and—well, I think you want to be as unsuspicious as possible." He raised his eyebrow slightly. "It would be much more _natural _for you to be here for post-graduation learning, given our very talented faculty. Not to mention the reputation it would give you as intelligent and academic—admirable traits." His gaze locked onto hers.

Hermione felt like Dumbledore was talking in code to her, trying to tell her something about her target. Leave it to Dumbledore to not just say things outright. Hermione bit back a frustrated sigh as she broke his gaze, thinking over his words.

So her target would be suspicious of her sudden appearance in the school, perhaps he was naturally suspicious to begin with? That would definitely make sense. He admired intelligence, pursuit of knowledge, etc.? How Ravenclaw. Meeting Dumbledore's eyes again, she nodded slowly.

"Perhaps I could do some post-graduate research? I will come up with a project," she said. It would be tricky to find something she knew about without changing the future an undue amount. She'd consider that later. "Great. All that remains, that I can see, is to notify the Headmaster…"

"I will take care of that. I can show you to your room, now, if you like. You look done in. You should rest before dinner."

"Thank you…" She gave in to her aching arm and peeled her sleeve off of her wound, wincing. The cloth stuck to parts of it, tearing away some dried scab. "If I could have a healing potion, that would be fantastic…."

_AN: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Can anyone figure out where I got Hermione's new last name? Sorry if this was a little dry, but this chapter, the laying down her identity, was kind of necessary. Warning: updates won't be this fast. We kind of had these three chapters in mind before we posted the story at all, so they were easier to write. Thanks for reading! Please review! _ _-Loony Ferret_


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_"Block him, Harry!" she hissed under her breath, and she saw him throw up a hasty shield, stumbling backwards at the impact of Voldemort's curse._

_This was all wrong! She should be at his side, she and Ron. That's how it had always been, the three of them were side by side, her and Ron helping Harry to the last._

_She fought her way through the battle, running and hexing at she went, trying to get to Harry. She tried not to see familiar faces on the dead._

_She screamed, seeing a Death Eater approach Harry from behind. "Ron! Do something—!" Her mind yelled—she may have even yelled aloud, too, but she was too far away to be heard, or to do anything herself. _

_She watched Malfoy raise his wand, but he'd be too late to stop the Death Eater's curse. _

_She watched as Ron jumped forward, between Harry and the Death Eater, in front of the curse. He fell. She pitched forward, falling to her knees at his side. Was he…?_

"RON!" she choked.

She sat up quickly, her face glued in a shocked expression as she looked wildly around the unfamiliar room. After a moment, she remembered, and with a soft moan, sank back on her pillow, hands covering her face.

What she wouldn't give to see them again, whole and happy. To hear Ron prattle on about Quidditch, to nag them about their homework, to sit in the Three Broomsticks and talk about girls they liked…. Even this past year, hunting the Horcruxes together, just the three of them. She hugged her pillow and pressed her face into it, listening to her clock wheezing and snoring lightly, matching her own breathing to its sound.

If she was going to accomplish this, she had to have control of herself.

Her clock snorted causing Hermione to startle. "Oh, wake up, dearie, its almost time for dinner," it said, sleepily, as its hand reverted from "Naptime" to "Dinnertime." Hermione rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling for a second before sitting up again, looking around at her blue and white room.

There were moving pictures of people she didn't know—her friends from Salem, her parents—and she was magically imposed between them. There were post cards from her parents posted on her walls with Adhesive Charms, and a poster signed by the Keeper for the Fitchburg Finches. Random trinkets littered her windowsill and dresser, things that could have been gifts. It was such a normal room, but it wasn't Hermione's. She felt like she was intruding in someone else's room, napping in someone else's bed—she was beginning to feel like she was wearing someone else's skin!

Slipping out of bed, she began to freshen up. She didn't have a bathroom, only a sink and mirror, but she could use the prefect's bathroom just down the hallway on her way to the Great Hall. She splashed water on her face and began detangling her hair.

She'd thought up a project before her nap. She'd research werewolves and attempt to create a preliminary potion to the Wolfsbane. She didn't want to introduce the latter too soon, not knowing what effect the unnecessary changes would have on the future. But she figured that a potion that minimized the effects of the transformation, or allowed the werewolf to keep his or her mind while in solitude, couldn't make too much of a difference. The origins of Wolfsbane and its forerunners was somewhat mysterious, anyway, and it would be interesting to work backwards on the progress of a potion.

She had some time before her target returned to school. For now she simply needed to solidify her credibility. All she had to do was get her facts right, and make people like her and take her background for granted. When her target came, she supposed she would simply learn all she could about him, preferably _from_ him, and then she could decide upon the best course of action to take from there. If she had to kill in cold blood, she would, though she secretly hoped she didn't have to do that, she'd rather spy on him and gather information on how to destroy him. It was possible that she couldn't change what she knew to be real so far, but the outcome hadn't been decided yet, if that was the case.

Just think, if she could give Harry a childhood with his parents, free from Voldemort and the Chosen One business.

She changed into the dark pants and blouse of the American working woman, and took a moment to compose herself, standing in the center of the room with her eyes closed. When she opened her eyes, she would be Hermione Hale, war orphan, academic enthusiast.

She opened her eyes, and headed into the hall, determined to see this through.

"You must be Miss Hale!" said a shaky voice as she entered the Great Hall. A frail-looking wizard smiled at her wanly from the headmaster's chair. Others were in various stages of gathering and sitting down about him. Dumbledore smiled at her from the wizened wizard's right hand side, giving her a small nod, but he let her present herself.

"Headmaster Dippet," she greeted, smiling shyly. "Thank you so much for letting me stay here…." She shook his hand. It was limp and bony.

"We must take care of each other in times like these, Miss Hale. And I hear you will be conducting some research while you are here—very interesting, I'm sure—we're pleased to have you, of course." Hermione had a feeling that Dippet was merely repeating Dumbledore's arguments on her behalf, but she just smiled at the headmaster in mild appreciation. He turned to look around at his staff. "A few of our teachers have returned for term a little early, if I may introduce you…"

"Thank you—"

"You know Albus, then. On his other side, Augusta Andersen, our new Defense Professor." It was the wiry woman who'd escorted Hermione to Dumbledore. She gave Hermione a thin smile and a nod, and though she wasn't overly friendly, Hermione felt accepted by her, more or less. "And beyond her is Horace Slughorn, Potions Professor." Hermione hoped her smile at him didn't resemble a grimace too much .

Dippet cleared his voice and turned to his left. "Ezekiel Frinn is professor of Charms." Frinn wasn't much older than Hermione, and had a friendly smile. "Past Ezekiel is Beral Wyde, our Herbology Professor." Wyde was large and grizzly, but he gave her a quick wink for greeting.

"Introductions aside, do sit and join us for supper, Miss Hale," Dippet offered.

Frinn immediately conjured a chair for her and moved to put it next to his own, but Dumbledore, with an overly twinkling pair of eyes and a small smile, said, "Why don't we sit her with Tom? You young ones will undoubtedly enjoy each other's company much more." Someone else made an agreeing noise, which Hermione only barely registered. She had frozen in place. Tom—surely Dumbledore would have warned her if—

that old codger!

She tried to look at ease and pleasant as she looked to where Dumbledore had gestured. It was him.

Tom Riddle.

He wasn't looking at her, but at Dippet. His face was impassive, but Hermione detected a glint of anger in his look that made her desperately want to hide behind Professor Wyde.

"Now, Dumbledore, that may not be such a good idea," Dippet was saying faintly, looking slightly ill. "I'm sure Miss Hale wants to discuss her research with the professors. Riddle is still a student, I'm sure they…." He glanced uneasily from Riddle to Hermione, and flushed.

It wasn't fear of Riddle, as Hermione might have expected, but more of what might happen if the two of them were to get together and… talk? Hermione wasn't sure. She was intrigued.

Still irritated with Dumbledore for not telling her that Riddle was living in the castle, though she supposed she would have acted suspiciously, she nevertheless found herself smilingly at Riddle and telling Professor Dippet, "Oh, no, thank you, but I'll sit here..." and she sat next to a startled Tom Riddle.

She pretended to be slightly shy so she could avoid looking directly into his eyes while she attempted to get her mind under control. It was screaming _This is Lord Voldemort! You know what he's going to do, what he's capable of—run! Stop him! Get away from him!_

"Hello… Tom Riddle, is it? Pleasure," and against all of her natural instincts, she put her hand forth to shake his, trying not to look too hard at the glistening black ring on his finger.

Half expecting her hand to light afire or fall off, she missed whatever he said to her and she just nodded numbly.

"Well, what school did you just finish, then?"

"Oh, I went to Salem. It's nothing like Hogwarts so far, but I like it here."

Riddle nodded, looking up and around at the Great Hall as if sizing up its attributes while he chewed. "It's a very… interesting place, I'm sure you'll enjoy being here. It's got a lot of history behind it, from its founding to date."

"Oh, it must! Salem is so young in comparison… Hogwarts' history _would_ be interesting to learn about…."

"Well, there's a book in the library, _Hogwarts, A History._ It's worth a read, to know a thing or two about the castle you live, right? For example, you can't Apparate or Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds." His voice took on a certain amount of significance, and his gaze darted her way quickly, as if sizing her up without her knowledge. When she didn't react but for a nod, he continued, "Madame Durie could help you find it, or I could, if I'm there. I'm in the library somewhat often."

"I suppose there isn't much else to do, being the only student here during the summer. I have to admit, though, I was in the library all the time _while_ school was in session, too," Hermione laughed.

"Well, the castle and its grounds are really intriguing, too. It's got secret passageways and moving staircases. And our ghosts, of course, that's another thing people don't expect when they come here. This place has got a life of its own," said Riddle. "Many say it is connected on some level to the residing headmaster, and derives its strength from the head of school." Both glanced momentarily at the feeble wizard at the head of the table.

"Salem is nothing like this," breathed Hermione, somewhat wistfully. "It's just a place where magic is _learned_, it really isn't that magical in itself…."

"What's Salem like?"

Hermione sat up pin-straight and dove into her impassioned lecturing tone, and began rattling off everything she had looked up about Salem. "Oh, well, it doesn't have houses, to start with. Just dormitories based on year. And our Quidditch isn't so structured—its played on a more pick-up basis. Of course, Americans are so wild about Quodpot—I can't say I am, Quidditch seems to take more athletic ability. The institute is also very intermingled with the Muggles—there's less of a campus, its really just charmed to look like one of the numerous 'haunted' houses in the town, and we could walk about in the Muggle parts in our free time. It _is_ an interesting town, more so than even the Muggles realize, since they refuse to believe that the ghosts they see are _real_…" Hermione prattled on, fully aware that she sounded like an embarrassed girl flustered by the company of a handsome fellow. She was unsure whether having the future Dark Lord think she fancied him was a positive thing or not. She supposed that was better than having him see through her nervousness for the lies she was telling. It was supposed to be impossible to lie to Voldemort.

This is Tom Riddle, she reminded herself, firmly. Not Voldemort. He looked nothing like the red-eyed snake monster that was persecuting all that she held dear in her time. He looked like a normal teenage boy—vaguely like Harry, actually, with his jet black hair. And neither were exactly "normal" teenagers. This seventh-year Tom Riddle was most likely already responsible for Moaning Myrtle's death and his father's by now as well, but he was not yet Voldemort. She resisted looking at his ring again.

Hermione was relieved when Professor Frinn addressed her about her research, even when the entire table turned their attention to her to listen. She'd rather talk to the entire table than to Tom Riddle alone right now.

"So, Miss Hale, tell us a little about your plans for research? Have you chosen a field of interest?" Frinn asked with a slight smile.

"Oh, yes, I hope to explore the interconnections between Transfiguration and Potions. Little is known about their particular correlations, you know, and it's generally an unknown territory. Actually, I'd like to concentrate my research specifically to possible solutions for werewolves." She finished somewhat abruptly, realizing that her research could quite possibly be the basis for further Transfiguration-Potions projects such as the Polyjuice Potion. She felt breathless at the implications.

Professor Wyde made an impressed sound as he put his napkin beside his plate. "That is _extremely_ interesting, Miss Hale, indeed," he said, considering her with serious eyes. "I'd like to speak further with you on that, if you don't mind."

"I'd be delighted," agreed Hermione.

"Revolutionary!" agreed Frinn, toasting her with his goblet.

Slughorn jumped in, as if on cue. "Yes, how simply fascinating, my dear, a young witch in the heavier sciences, bravo!" exclaimed Slughorn. He looked at her closely, and Hermione knew he was wondering if she was really someone worth making part of his web of influential 'friends' or not. Didn't Harry say the Slug Club was enitrely male in that memory? "I will greatly enjoy assisting you to the best of my abilities. You must come visit me, for dinner some time, perhaps. Eh, Tom? The three of us. Such promising youth."

"Oh, that's very kind of you, Professor. I do look forward to picking the brains of this talented faculty, but I'm _sure_ you'll be too busy to personally assist me," Hermione said, sweetly.

The dishes had cleared themselves. Several around her were rising to leave, some approaching to express extra welcome or interest in her subject study. Dippet told her to ask the house-elves if she needed anything, and she bit her lip and nodded, trying to look grateful. Slughorn reiterated another enthusiatic invitation to visit, and Dumbledore gave her a warm smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Your parents would be so proud to see you now, Hermione," he said, softly, but loud enough that those around could hear. She saw Dippet off to the left.

Riddle had escaped the Great Hall, but she accidentally caught up to him on the way to her room.

"Riddle! Hey there." She jogged to catch up to his side. "Where do you stay, over the summer? In your dormitory, or…?"

"Yes."

"It must be very lonely there, so empty, with everyone gone?"

"It's very different from the bustle of the school year, granted, but it's really not all bad. I'd rather be here, anyway," he said, quietly. He looked pensive. She made an assenting noise as it occurred to her that Riddle could possibly be a solitary person, introverted—surely not introspective? In what way? She'd have to mull that over.

"Well, here I am," she said as she reached her door, and she turned to look at him. She felt a sudden surge of unease at the thought that Riddle knew where she slept. "Good night, Tom Riddle."

He nodded to her. "Good night, Hermione Hale." After a brief moment, a scrutiny so quick that Hermione couldn't be sure it happened, he turned on his heel and strode on down the hall.

_AN: Cheers! Thanks for all of the reviews! They are great, we get so excited over them. Thanks especially to _Maid_, because you've given us such great reviews, complete with praise, things to work on, and suggestions to keep in mind as I'm writing. As for the yahoo! group, I'll have to check that out at some point, but I really don't want to subconsciously "borrow" too much from other stories. I'm trying to keep this as original as possible._

_As for Hermione's new last name, Hale, I'll give you a hint: it's a "first" in American history._

_I put Hermione in the 'dark pants and blouse of the American working woman' because 1) she's been in America 2) woman began working during the war there Rosie the Riveter and all that and 3) I really just couldn't bring myself to stick her in a skirt. If witches and wizards, especially younger ones, are donning Muggle clothing for comfort as opposed to their robes, why on earth would they wear skirts? Perhaps the wizarding world was behind making pants fashionable for women, who knows!_

_I'm going to be away for a few weeks, and may not have access to a computer. Besides, we all need a break for the sixth book! I only hope not too much changes with respect to this story, that will make things hard. Enjoy reading the sixth book, guys! I know its going to be worth the wait! (I'm extremely excited, I can hardly contain myself!) –End rant before it begins.–_

_Ta! –Luna _

**_New A/N! Hi guys. I'm home for 2 days and then I'm away again, and again, I don't know if I will have access to a computer. I made some hasty changes to make the story compatible with Book 6. I've been working on an update too, so I'll try to post it, but only as soon as its ready! Quick brag: I was in England when Book 6 came out, so I got it about 5 hours before y'all! HA!_**

**_--Luna_**


	5. Chapter Four

_A/N: I went back and tweaked all of the previous chapters to make it fit with Book 6, so you may want to just scan it. Keep in mind that it was a hasty tweak job. I probably would have made some more emotion than I put when she meets Dumbledore again, had the time. Maybe later I will go back and tweak it even further. I was fairly certain that Dumbledore was going to die, though I didn't expect it to be Snape as his murderer… now I am a supporter of the theory that Dumbledore put Snape to it. There had to be a further significance of his shriveled hand and weakened condition—Dumbledore was dying already. OK, OK, won't discuss this here. But remember how Snape got the DE's to not go after Harry during the following duel/scuffle… the hatred on his face was hatred for himself, and for Dumbledore for making him do this… GAH! Isolated from computers, I spent days whirling these things through my mind and then I came back and found a lot more people had the same brilliant revelation. Humph. ANYWHO! Chapter, what, four? Gah, I need to spew these out faster, sorry guys. Please review! _

**Chapter Four**

Hermione awoke feeling unsettled from her dream, one that she couldn't quite remember, and that eluded her ever the more the harder she tried to recall it. But by the time she'd completed her morning routine, she'd mostly dispelled her apprehension, and went to breakfast with a certain amount of confidence, enough to face Tom Riddle, or so she hoped. She hadn't counted, however, on dealing with Ezekiel Frinn.

Dumbledore was just rising from his seat, Riddle was about midway through, and Frinn, by the looks of things, had just sat down. He was just pouring himself a cup of tea, his plate as of yet unspoiled by food.

"Good morning, my dear," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I hope you slept well?"

"Yes, thank you, sir. I was exhausted from my journey, and the accommodations are excellent." She tried to sound very grateful and awed by the castle's hospitality, though she was very used to it by now, and only wanted some morning tea.

Dumbledore had reached her on his way out, and took her arm. "Please, call me Albus. You are the daughter of my dear friends, like family." His kind eyes smiled down at her, so warmly.

Hermione knew the words themselves were an act for the listeners at the table, but she also understood his meaning intended for her. She felt another spout of emotion well up, and her eyes prickled. Affection for the dear man now before her and heartache for what she'd left behind overwhelmed her, and impulsively she reached out and pulled Dumbledore into a fierce hug.

After a brief embrace, she stepped back, red-faced. She tried to remember if she'd ever known _anyone_ to hug Dumbledore, and couldn't recall even Harry to do so.

Dumbledore looked pleased, though. Hermione was suddenly extremely aware of Frinn, drinking his tea with complete absorption and pretending not to notice anything outside of his breakfast, and Riddle, who was not even bothering to pretend, but watching with slightly raised eyebrows.

"Thanks, erm—uh—Uncle Al," Hermione blurted out, unable to address her mentor without some sort of title. She mentally slapped her forehead. She had come prepared to investigate Riddle—what was going on?

Dumbledore chuckled, and squeezed her hand before moving towards the door. "Alas, I must now go, there is a weighty amount of paperwork to be done before the new term begins. Do drop in if you need anything; for now, perhaps, you can help Tom keep our Charms professor out of too much trouble. Even over tea is this a possibility." He gave her a look that resembled some sort of mock-severe warning, and left.

"'Morning," greeted Frinn as she approached tiredly. Hermione smiled, a little weakly, fumbling in an attempt to sit, but he seemed to understand as he kindly pulled out her chair to save her the trouble. "Take it easy, there."

She practically collapsed into her chair, feeling nervous. She had been prepared to face Riddle, with her calculated agenda to follow, but she didn't know how to handle this overly _charm_ing professor as well.

Frinn seemed a little nervous as well. "So—Miss Hale—"

"—Hermione, please—"

"Hermione, then… if you like your accommodations so much, surely you can't be in the dungeons, where the Potions labs are?" He grinned, inviting her into his joke.

"Oh, heavens, no, I'm a few floors above, I _think_. I believe I'm fairly near—actually, I really don't know my way around, at all." Her voice sounded shrill and nervous to her own ears.

"She's a few floors above," confirmed Riddle, evenly. "Not too far away from the labs, but it's all staircases."

Frinn just kept grinning. "Well, I'd be delighted to help you learn your way around, if you'd like—and I'm sure I speak for Riddle, as well," Frinn added, as if just remembering the student.

Riddle looked over at them, and nodded. "Of course."

"Thanks." She felt her cheeks warming up.

Frinn served himself some potatoes, and took a forkful. "So—potions and transfiguration—extremely interesting field, that." He gave her a scrutinizing look. Hermione made an awkward assenting noise, unable to think of anything more profound to say.

"Very interesting and all that, of course, but I doubt it will be gratifying," Riddle interjected, looking over at her again to see her reaction.

"Whatever you accomplish will be groundwork only, and used for more famous breakthroughs," agreed Frinn, adding hastily, "Groundwork is really important, of course—"

"Oh, there will be very little glory, I know that," said Hermione. "I probably won't get much credit for my work, and earn very little off of my labors, etc.—but you said it, it is not researched." Her face lit up in academic zeal.

Frinn grinned wider, and his steady look made her mildly uncomfortable. "You want to change the world, then… for the world's sake?" he squinted a bit, as if trying to read the answer right under her skin.

"Maybe the very idea of an un-researched field excites you," Riddle said, frowning a little as he studied her.

"Or both," Frinn countered, as if in contest.

Hermione smiled into their faces, somewhat amused, and then looked down at her plate again, quickly. Buttering a biscuit rather sloppily, she replied, "Parts of both, I guess. I really do like knowing as much as I can." She spotted Riddle nodding slightly in agreement. "I find it remarkable that no one has looked into this before!" She shook her head, and bit her biscuit.

"When it comes to werewolves, not many want to spend their time looking for remedies," commented Frinn, neutrally, as if upon the weather. "Werewolves are considered Dark creatures, Hermione." He raised his eyebrows at her, inviting her dissent. Riddle was unusually quiet, waiting for her answer.

"I know that. And I know some _are_ Dark—I know that all too well," she spat, thinking of a particularly savage werewolf, an attacker of children. "Just like some _men_ are Dark, just like some _men_ are like animals! Lycanthropy is not the cause of Darkness, though it can be used as a powerful weapon. Some of werewolf Darkness can be attributed to their cold treatment in society, I'm _sure_ of it! Some are isolated from wizarding society because of their affliction, scorned by 'normal' wizards, and brought up as anti-wizard savages! Dark wizards find their bitterness all too easy to control. If a cure were possible—it would improve society's reception of werewolves, save innocent victims, and disarm the more militant ones." She paused briefly to catch her breath. "And Transfiguration-Potions cross-research will most definitely lead to more than werewolf remedies. How about potions that _cause_ transfigurations? The Metamorphamagus ability, or the Animagus ability, in a flask. Who knows what such research could produce?" Hermione finished passionately, and then felt a sudden flash of embarrassment as she mentally kicked herself for getting carried away.

"Interesting," said Riddle, quietly. His lack of agreement or disagreement to her basic argument disturbed Hermione. She felt like an odd specimen of spider or snake being examined and dissected.

Frinn laughed appreciatively, sitting back in his chair. "I like you, you're a dreamer and a do-er all in one…" he shook his head, looking a little bewildered.

Riddle was rising. "Well, I'll be off. If you do need help finding your way about, Hale, I'd be happy to help."

"Thank you, that's very kind."

"Good morning." He nodded to both her and Frinn, and, turning sharply, he left.

Watching him go with a queasy, unsettled feeling, Hermione took a large sip of her tea, coughing. She was unfairly annoyed at Frinn for preventing what could have been a valuable investigation of Riddle. Changing the subject before Frinn continued to flatter fifty-odd years worth of future magical advancements from her, she asked, "So… how long have you been at Hogwarts, Professor Frinn?"

"You don't have to call me that—I'd rather you didn't, actually. I'm not your teacher," chided Frinn jokingly. Hermione just smiled lightly, and Frinn coughed, returning to his meal. "Anyway," he continued, "I've been here a term and a half. I replaced a teacher who was killed in the war by some of Grindelwald's lackeys. Dumbledore, he recru—well, brought me here for the job."

"Oh—then—did you know Dumbledore well before then?" She tried to assume the look of one who was trying not to be anxious, and who was failing.

"Somewhat, yes, I was a student here, and we remained in touch after I left school—say, are you quite alright?"

Hermione was now trying to look slightly ill, and hoped that she wasn't overdoing it. "I suppose—you didn't know my parents, then," she said, quietly, looking at her place dejectedly.

A look of pity passed over his face. "The Hales, no, not really, not personally. I knew _of_ them, of course, they were heroes to our side, however enigmatic, and they were great friends of Dumbledore so I'd come across them once or twice…."

Hermione nodded and stonily pushed her food around her plate.

"Dumbledore thought very highly of them, as I'm sure he's told you," Frinn said awkwardly.

She shot him a small smile and gave a resigned sigh, shaking herself as if shaking off the gloom. It was a good acting performance, she told herself with cool satisfaction. She refused to feel guilty about the deception, and pushed away thoughts of her real parents and friends from her life.

After a silence that was decidedly unpleasant for both of them, she changed the subject again. "So—tell me, why is there just one student here this summer? Is it normal to allow a student here for the summer holiday, or are there normally more?" She knew the answers, of course, and had a very good feeling as to why Riddle specifically was permitted to stay, but she wanted to know what the teachers had been told. Besides, she couldn't appear to know too much without asking.

"Well—he's an orphan, actually…" Frinn looked uncomfortable. "He normally goes to an orphanage in London for the summer holiday, but I gather he really hates it—well, who'd want to live in an orphanage? He's been after the Headmaster to stay here for the summers, but Dippet always said no. I guess, now that the war is pretty much over…."

Hermione frowned. "A London orphanage? That's hardly safer than Hogwarts, with the Muggle bombings!"

Frinn glanced around, checking for unwanted listeners, and leaned a little closer. "I think Dumbledore had something to do with it, but as for his reasons, I can't fathom—I'd always imagined he supported Riddle returning to the orphanage, but this time he definitely took up Riddle's side with Dippet. Maybe I was wrong, I haven't been here very long, of course…." He shrugged.

"Is he a good student?"

"Oh—exceptional. Really a brilliant lad, a joy to teach, all that. The students admire him and flock to him. He's Head Boy this term, in fact."

"Maybe Dumbledore thought he deserved this, then?" Hermione said, diplomatically. "Sounds like he is a worthy candidate for this privilege."

Frinn didn't look convinced, but he shrugged and nodded anyway. "Maybe. Any kid deserves to be in a proper 'home' for the summer." He sipped his tea. "You know, Slytherin House has a very bad reputation, and in all fairness, I'm glad Riddle's getting a chance to change that, to prove that not all Slytherin ambition is Dark. I suppose you've heard of the notorious rivalries here?"

"A little, not much. Just—Gryffindor, right, and Slytherin?"

"Yeah, for years, they—"

"—no, no don't," said Hermione quickly, and then smiled apologetically. "I don't want prejudices before I even meet anyone! I want to take advantage of the fact that I won't be sorted or attached to any one house."

"Sounds like a good, er—very diplomatic idea," agreed Frinn.

"Riddle is proof, an atypical Slytherin. He sounds quite interesting."

"Riddle is very interesting, all right," said a sharper voice, and they looked towards the door to see a rigid-backed Professor Andersen swoop into the hall. "He is _highly_ intelligent, and well-liked. One of Hogwarts' prized students." Andersen sounded defensive and looked extremely irritated.

"Exactly the conclusion we came to," Frinn said, coolly. Hermione looked between them, a little surprised at the frostiness between the two professors.

"You might want to finish up there, _Professor,_" Andersen said, emphasizing his title with slightly narrowing eyes. Her eyes darted between the two breakfasters. "It may be the summer holiday, but you still have a job to do. You still haven't dealt with the suits-of-armor in the Arithmancy hallway."

Frinn look distinctly annoyed at the scolding. "Right. I was going to sort that out this morning, in fact." He downed his tea hastily, and stood. "Er—Hermione, if you still need a tour around, this will—"

"—I'm sure someone else can show Miss Hale around if you are too busy, Professor," said Andersen, sitting down and filling her plate.

"Er—right," Frinn said again, turning in such a way that Andersen couldn't see his face, and he rolled his eyes at Hermione. He made a tiny gesture towards the door and winked. Hermione tried to keep her face impassive, and said, "Thanks for the offer anyway, Professor Frinn."

Frinn looked hastily at Andersen and scurried out of the Great Hall, stopping only to clap Beral Wyde on the shoulder, saying only a word or two of greeting before darting out.

Wyde lumbered up to the table, looking even grizzlier in the morning than he had last night. "Devilish hour," he growled. He didn't bother to sit down, but just poured himself some tea and drank it down straight before repeating the process.

Hermione smiled at him in greeting, and finished her own tea and milk. She set her napkin down next to her empty plate, wondering how to leave without being obvious about following Frinn.

"You finished there, then?" Wyde said. He grabbed some toast and conjured a paper napkin. "I'll accompany you, then—breakfast is a horrid meal, and I know for fact that you have no idea what's where in this crazy castle."

Hermione grinned. "Everyone seems determined to help me with that," she commented. She noticed Andersen smiling slightly, but she quickly covered it up. She seemed determined to disapprove of such lenient characters like Wyde and Frinn.

Wyde offered Hermione his arm. "Augusta, m'dear, the Headmaster will be along shortly, so you shall soon have more agreeable company." He nodded his head to her and swept Hermione away from the table and out of the dining hall.

Just outside in the atrium, Frinn was leaning casually against the wall opposite the doors to the dining hall. He beamed at the two, straightening up, eyes laughing.

"Well done, Beral. That was no easy task." He winked at Hermione, who couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Come on, then, Zek, we actually _do_ need to settle those suits-of-armor. They have been making a hideous racket and I refuse to put up with it any longer." Wyde looked back at Hermione. "Care to see the Arithmancy hallway, m'dear?"

Frinn sheepishly offered Hermione his own arm, which she accepted, and, escorted by both, she let the two show her the castle that had been home to her for seven years.

_A/N: I decided to update this half, the other half is coming along shortly, I promise. I thought I'd cut it in half, since you're waiting, and it was some 13 pages anyway and long enough. I'm still tweaking it though. Hope this is OK, I just kinda wrote it and then haven't checked it, the next part has Tommy Riddle in it so I was concentrating on that. Sorry for the delay, been out of town. I've heard they've outlawed individual review responses, sadly, right when I was considering doing it. I'll look through them for questions though and hopefully answer those when I post the next one. Please review! Thanks!_

_Ta! -Luna_


	6. Chapter Five

_A/N: Should I spill the beans on the name Hale? You might want to research Nathan Hale…. Thanks for the reviews, guys, the support and feedback really helps. Keep it up! Next chapter will be more, Hermione re-gathers her thoughts after these first impressions of Riddle. I'll try not to take to long, but school is starting up and assignments must get finished, unfortunately. Thanks for reading and reviewing! -L_

**Chapter Five**

After the Arithmancy hallway (where they enlisted Hermione's help with the troublesome suits-of-armor), they whisked her through the Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts classrooms and even, however jokingly, the entrance to the Divination tower, while she acted extremely confused and overwhelmed by the onslaught of information. They showed her the kitchens, various bathrooms, supply closets, staff lounges, and random trophy rooms where, they informed her, students often hid after curfew, or served detention.

"What do I care about detentions?" Hermione asked, amusedly exasperated.

"Surely the Headmaster will give you some professor powers—and it's so fun to catch the ickle students misbehaving and shrinking in terror before your commanding presence," deadpanned Wyde, while Frinn laughed, slightly manically.

They then briefly explored some of the more dangerous areas, such as the third-floor corridor, which already had a very sinister atmosphere before Fluffy or the Stone ever resided there.

"You'll want to see the library and Potions facilities, of course," Frinn said, as he limped away from a sudden surprise encounter with Ogg, the jumpy caretaker of the time. Wyde and Hermione followed, snickering.

"Stuff it, you two," Frinn growled darkly. "Library first then?"

"Do we have time? I'll want to peruse the contents _very_ thoroughly," Hermione said, seriously, reverting immediately into her scholar mode.

"We'll just show you where it is, and you can explore it later. How's that sound? That way you can spend all day tomorrow investigating it," Frinn offered, with a slight teasing note to his voice. "Then we can drop by the dungeons for the Potions labs and stores, then to your room so you know the direct way between the two, and then it shouldn't be too long before lunch."

Wyde snorted. "You just don't want to give Slughorn enough time to delay us—well, _her_—significantly—eh, don't deny it."

Ezekial grinned. "I'm _not_ denying it."

Hermione knew a secret passage that would have gotten them to the library much faster, but if Wyde and Frinn knew it, they obviously didn't want to confuse her, so she followed them without argument. She'd have to "discover" several passages in the castle as soon as was realistic.

"Madame Durie is the librarian," explained Frinn as they trekked through the halls. "She's sweet enough to bibliophiles, and very helpful when it comes to finding books or even getting them from outside the school. Just don't misbehave grossly in the library, or deface the books or someth—"

"I would never do such a thing!" Hermione said indignantly, though she couldn't help but think guiltily of the page she'd ripped from a library book during her second year.

"Obviously you are two of a kind, then," Ezekial finished.

"Beral—Ezekial—" it was Dumbledore, looking serious. "I have need of you, immediately. We'll meet in seven minutes time, so be ready. If you see any of the crowd, alert them."

Frinn and Wyde dropped their joviality immediately. Wyde glanced at Hermione, as if questioning Dumbledore's openness in front of her, but Frinn just squeezed her arm in reassurance, though of what, Hermione was unsure.

"Hermione is more than trustworthy," Dumbledore announced, seeing Wyde's look. "She will no doubt be joining us in future outings, once she is familiarized with our methods."

"We'll be lucky to have you," Beral said, partly in apology and partly in acknowledgement of Dumbledore's trust in her. "Sorry the tour is cut short—I'll head on over, Albus—" and Wyde nodded to them all and strode off, gripping his wand in his left hand.

"Hermione, we will discuss your part in all this when we return. For now, pretend ignorance to all," Dumbledore instructed. Hermione nodded, and the auburn-haired professor left after saying only, "six minutes, Ezekial."

"Yes sir," Frinn said, and turned to Hermione with a tight smile. "It'll just be routine, I'll wager. I'll see you at supper. Now, you can just follow this hallway a little bit, and take a left at the archway with the large green tapestry. At the first staircase, follow it up just one floor and go straight from there, and you'll see the library. Potions can wait till later, and Durie can get you back to your room from there."

"Alright, thanks… and, good luck."

Somewhat restless, being left behind, she wandered in the direction of the library, trying to look a little befuddled. She knew the portraits would be watching her, and notice if she knew her way about a little too well.

Her ears perked to the sound of footsteps coming towards her from around the corner, so she stopped by the door of a very treacherous closet, and put her hand on the knob. As the footsteps neared and her visitor rounded the corridor, she fixed a lost look on her face and slowly turned the handle.

"Stop!" an urgent voice called. Hermione smirked mentally, feeling a rush of pride at the depth of her deception. It was kind of fun pretending to be new at Hogwarts, yet knowing _exactly_ how to run into trouble.

She turned, affecting a startled expression on her face, to see Tom Riddle hurrying towards her.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned, slowing down as the danger of her opening the door passed. He had already taken out his wand, but was careful not to point it at her. "That closet tends to have nasty surprises," he explained, dryly. "Biting creatures, flying curses—the like."

Hermione removed her hand from the knob, looking closer to examine the door with mingled respect and wariness. "Why on earth is there such a closet in the school?" She frowned, looking sideways at Riddle, dubiously.

Riddle gave her a half-smile. "You're not in Salem anymore, Hale," he chided, seemingly playfully, but Hermione felt cold anyway. "Remember, this isn't just any old castle, built and maintained by wizards."

He left it at that, forcing her to accept this vague reminder as an answer. He moved slightly so that he was between her and the door, and fixed his eyes on her. "What are you doing, wandering around here alone?" he asked. "I thought Professor Frinn was going to show you around?"

"Oh—he was—but then Professor Andersen happened, and Professor Dumbledore—so he's a little busy," Hermione said, tactfully. "Frinn gave me some directions, but—well, I think I am a little lost, actually."

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "I'm surprised he let you wander like this. It's notoriously difficult to learn your way around the castle, especially alone. Who knows what kind of trouble you could get yourself into?"

"Yes, I'll have to give him a stern talking-to," Hermione said. Riddle's gaze was still boring into her, and she tried to fidget.

"Where are you going? Back to your rooms?"

"No—I _was_ going to the library, first…."

"You won't have time to check it out now if you plan to eat lunch," said Riddle.

"I didn't plan to—don't want to rush it," she explained, blushing a little as she grinned at him ruefully. "I wanted to know where it was, though, so I could find it myself when I _do_ explore it later." She realized how nerdy she sounded, but at least Riddle seemed to be on the same page in that regard. It wasn't really surprising that the Dark Lord-to-be was a bookworm as well. "You don't need to take me there—whatever's closest to wherever you're headed—the Great Hall, or my rooms are fine—"

"—nonsense, it's no trouble. The library isn't far." He gave her an easy smile, his piercing stare relaxing at last as he jerked his head over his shoulder, urging her on. "Come on, then."

Walking a half-step behind him, she followed him en route to the library. She was careful to look around her in apparent interest in their surroundings—looking anywhere but at Riddle and his sharp eyes. She was still unsure how far he'd progressed in Legilimency, and she couldn't stop her intense flow of thoughts at the moment.

With his deceivingly pleasant smile and steady gaze, it wasn't hard to imagine that Tom Riddle was generally well-liked at school. Obviously he was an expert at hiding his evilness. She felt a surge of anger and hatred rise up in her, and she almost choked with the overwhelming desire to turn and attack Riddle, with fist or wand, or at least make him show the ruthless, murdering maniac that she _knew_ he was.

Quickly she tried to calm her emotions before she lost control of her actions and before Riddle noticed. She'd yet to look at his hands for the ring she knew he wore, the ring that marked the murders he'd already committed—the ring that was probably the first Horcrux. She told herself she avoided it because she was afraid she'd stare and give herself away, but in reality, she was frightened of the ring itself, and everything it represented to her. Not only about who this boy was and would be, but also the destruction he'd make of her life and world. Dumbledore's death. She closed her eyes for a moment to shield against the suddenly too-bright torches lighting the hallway. Maybe Dumbledore _did_ order Snape to kill him, already weakened by the wretched ring, but that only meant that besides never forgiving Snape, _ever_, she couldn't forgive Dumbledore, either, for his part in his own death.

Most of all, there would be no forgiveness, no redemption, no mercy, for Lord Voldemort.

She had the chance to undo Voldemort's destruction before it became impossible to stop. She wouldn't settle for taking information back to her time, though her mission guidelines credited this. No, she would end it in _this_ time, preventing everything, everything he'd done.

Mission in mind, she took a few deep breaths and determinedly put herself back into the present moment. Riddle was looking at her out of the corner of his eyes—he must have picked up on the strong emotion she was probably emitting, most likely in magical energy. She quickly muttered something in awed tones about various paintings they passed.

"I suppose, but the portraits are also the foundation of all gossip in Hogwarts," Riddle said. "Remember, a room isn't actually safe from eavesdroppers if there's a portrait hanging in it."

"Salem only has a few, of the school's important people and such, and a few historical ones from the witch trials, like Tituba, so on. And our portraits don't… _frivol_ so much."

"Not all of our portraits are very dignified, I'm afraid. Just wait until you meet Sir Cadogen."

"Who's he?"

"He's a barmy knight, a fool," explained Riddle.

A little further, he steered her left by the great green tapestry. Ceiling to floor, the vibrant, moving tapestry always seemed to be depicting something new. Hermione leaned closer to inspect the small embroidered figure of a cat. At first, it put her in mind of Crookshanks, though it was much sleeker and moved more gracefully. Then she noticed the mouse it was stalking, the rodent oblivious to its predator as it cleaned its whiskers in quick, jerky movements. The cat drew closer until it loomed over its target, which, noticing finally, began to attempt an escape right through the cat's legs, and a hot pursuit ensued.

Hermione looked away quickly. It was, as she'd told Ron repeatedly in their third year , a part of nature, but it was still unpleasant to watch. Why had the tapestry displayed _that_ to show her?

She looked over at Riddle, wondering what he saw. His eyes were searching the tapestry with a weird glint in them, shining threateningly. Uselessly, since she couldn't see what he did, she followed his line of vision to the tapestry.

"What do you see?" Her voice was a coarse whisper, and she cleared her throat.

Riddle's eyes darted to her quickly, his face hardened, and he shook his head. "Nothing. Let's go." He stepped away, still looking at her, his eyes almost accusing. She turned slightly to face him more directly, her heartbeat quickening.

"You're just a student, doing research, are you," sneered Riddle, scathingly.

Hermione frowned in confusion at this non sequitur, and found herself wanting to shrink away at the vehemence in his tone. "Yes," she said, defensively. Her voice sounded small.

"How innocent," he sneered.

They stood staring at each other for a minute. Increasingly alarmed, her common sense and instinct were both shouting for her to get out of there, _quick. _She couldn't remember ever having so intense a look directed at her. No one had ever had the reason to. Nor should Riddle. What had she done to call such attention to herself?

Something in his eyes flickered, and Hermione finally pulled her eyes away. She felt winded—she had been holding her breath without realizing. Trying to catch her breath inconspicuously, she was only just aware of Riddle turning away, rubbing his forehead, and saying, somewhat tiredly, "Library's just this way."

Hermione was just concentrating on stumbling after him as they briskly finished the trek to the library. Riddle seemed to have composed himself by the time they'd reached the library door, with his easy-going persona mostly back in place. He opened the door for her and followed her in, watching her nod at the shelves upon shelves of books in approval.

She swallowed uncertainly. "Everything I've heard about Hogwarts' resources are obviously accurate."

Riddle darted behind a bookshelf suddenly, leaving Hermione too surprised to follow him before he came back out, book in hand. He passed it to her.

It was the 40's edition of _Hogwarts, A History_. Feeling a genuine bubble of excitement (how interesting it would be to compare this to her copy—which, of course, she had memorized), Hermione beamed back at Riddle.

"Oh, goodness, this—thank you," she gushed, caught off-guard.

Riddle nodded, looking a little amused. "I'll show you where to check that out, then. Professors just need to make a not for Madame Durie, here." He took her to the desk, wrote the note for the librarian for her, and returned the book to her. "There you go, all set."

Hermione thanked him, taking the book and shrinking it to fit in her pocket. Soon they were on their way back to Hermione's rooms, an uneasy silence upon them. Despite both of their efforts to pretend nothing had happened, it was as if the tapestry itself hung between them. They both knew they were both thinking about it, but neither cared to bring it up, until Hermione finally burst out.

"Riddle—look, about what happened, at the ta—"

Riddle stopped and turned to her with a stony, impassive face. "I think there's nothing more to say about that now, don't you agree?"

Hermione was so unsettled that she just stared back at him. She yearned to grab her wand, unnecessary reminders of identity cropping up in her mind again. This was _Voldemort_. _Voldemort._ Fear, revenge, and her mission's ultimate success battled inside of her.

Then he spoke again, his voice silky. "I think you know where you are, don't you?"

She nodded slowly, still watching him warily.

"Good. Then I'll undoubtedly see you later." And he turned crisply and walked briskly in the other direction.

Once he had long since turned the corner, Hermione let out a shaky breath.


End file.
